


Past, Present, Future

by jj_minerva



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-10
Updated: 2009-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jj_minerva/pseuds/jj_minerva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story set in the very early days of their partnership.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past, Present, Future

**Author's Note:**

> This story might not fit exactly with canon. I am unsure if we ever find out if Doyle has shot anyone before his time in CI5. If so, then this should be considered AU.

They’d been working together for six weeks the first time it happened. Bodie bent down to check the two bodies lying in a pool of blood, felt for a pulse on first one then the other, slid the safety on his gun and declared, “Both dead.” He was not prepared for his partner’s reply.

 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell!” Doyle stood white faced, eyes staring at the silent corpses.

 

 Bodie smiled and asked, “First Kill?’

 

Doyle glared at him. “First time I’ve shot anyone, let alone killed a man.” He turned away with a scowl.

 

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Bodie tossed back as he put his gun away and reached for his RT.

 

“Used to it?” Doyle shouted swinging round. “Oh that’s just lovely that is! Why would I want to get used to it?”  His voice rose to a scream. “How many men have you killed, Bodie?”

 

“Don’t know,” Bodie replied, voice steady. “Never kept a count.”

 

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” Doyle sneered, “Probably can’t even remember the first.” He turned and walked away.

 

“I’ll call it in then,” Bodie said to the retreating figure feeling strangely hurt by the words.

 

He might not know how many men he had killed but he still remembered the first one. He’d been more than a little drunk at the time and had acted on instinct without even thinking.  One quick flash of his knife and the big Senegalese bar owner who’d been running his hands all over Bodie a moment before was clutching his own chest, dark hot blood seeping out between his fingers. He’d fallen to his knees, the very position he’d been angling Bodie into, before his eyes rolled up and he tipped sideways, dead before he hit the ground.

 

Bodie had felt no remorse as he pulled his clothes to rights. The bastard had deserved it. It wasn’t the first time he’d tried it on with Bodie, getting him drunk and then grabbing him, but it was certainly the last. With no further thought Bodie had stuffed his few possessions into his old duffle bag and quit the dinghy room above Dakar bar where he worked. Signing on as a mercenary had seemed a natural progression. He’d had no trouble killing so why not get paid to do it?

 

And here he was more than ten years later and half a world away still doing the same thing. Although he hoped it was for a better cause now, than some he had followed in the past. He clicked on the RT and asked for George Cowley.

 

Bodie found Doyle throwing his guts up in the gutter beside their car. He was still feeling his way with his new partner, still trying to understand this man that Cowley had paired him with for better or for worse. The bloke he was supposed to work with and to trust with his life. It was not proving to be an easy task. Although Bodie was used to working as part of a team, he’d never had to work closely with one single man before. The men he had fought alongside had all shared a common goal. The mercenaries were working for money, willing to do any service to reap that reward. They were ruthless and without honour but they were fiercely loyal to one another. It was their unwritten code. When he joined the services Bodie had found a similar kind of camaraderie. The men of the Paras and the SAS were not unlike many of the mercs he had known, just a little more honourable. They were dedicated to their cause and loyal to one another but they also had a healthy respect for authority.

 

Yet here was Raymond Doyle, who’d already shown he was not above arguing with authority in the form of Mr George Cowley. Doyle questioned his superior and spoke his mind.  Even his unorthodox hair and manner of dress spoke of someone who walked their own road. Bodie suspected Doyle had found it hard to wear a uniform when he was a copper.  There was a look Doyle got sometimes too, something akin to contempt when he glanced at Bodie. He was quick to hide it, but it broke through from time to time, like now as he straightened up and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

 

“Cowley’s sending a clean up team. He said to stay put until they arrive.”

 

Doyle said nothing, just turned to stare out across the disused allotment full of old warehouses.

 

“Look Doyle, they were terrorists. They were planning to blow up the London underground. They were armed and they were not going to surrender. It was them or us.”

 

Doyle still didn’t answer and Bodie stared at the soft curls at the back of the turned head wondering why the hell he was bothering to try and talk to this man. Perhaps he should just ask Cowley for another partner. The old man would understand. He’d been in the service himself. He knew that men had to be able to count on one another even if there were only two of you.

 

Bodie paused, thinking back over their encounter with the two terrorists; from their surprise discovery in the disused warehouse to the lightening quick gun fight that had ended with the terrorists dead and Doyle and himself unharmed.  Not for one moment had Doyle hesitated. He’d shot fast and true. He’d killed without thinking and it was only afterwards that his guilt had caught up with him.

 

“Doyle, don’t over-think it. There was no other way it could end without one of us being a casualty too. They weren’t going to surrender.”

 

“How do you do it Bodie?” the weary voice asked softly.

 

“I just put it out of my mind.” Bodie answered honestly, relieved that Doyle was at least talking to him again.

 

Doyle sighed. “I’m not like you. I can’t _not_ feel.”

 

“I _feel_,” Bodie replied more hurt than he’d cared to admit by Doyle’s insinuation that he didn’t. “And I remember the first man I killed.”

 

Doyle shook his head slightly and finally turned back to face Bodie. His eyes were wet and he dashed a hand across them quickly.  “What do you feel?” Doyle asked softly.

 

“What?” Bodie didn’t understand the question.

 

“What do you feel?” Doyle asked again, voice more certain this time.  “What do you feel when you look at the dead and see what you’ve done.  When you look down and see blood on your hands.” He gestured to Bodie’s own hands, his fingers sticky with blood from where he’d checked the bodies.

 

Bodie took out a handkerchief and wiped his fingers absently. “Relief,” he replied. “I feel relief that it’s them and not me. Any other way of thinking will send you mad.”

 

Sirens sounded in the distance. Cowley and the CI5 cavalry.

 

“Doyle, we’re on the right side. We’re the good blokes. What you’re feeling now is shock. It will pass. This might be the first time you’ve had to shoot someone but it won’t be the last. Not if you stay working for Cowley.”

 

Doyle sniffed and nodded. “Yeah, I know. I know.”  But the inscrutable look that clouded Doyle’s eyes left an uneasy feeling in Bodie’s gut.

 

Part 2

 

Doyle remained silent all the way to HQ.  News of their confrontation with the terrorists had travelled ahead and they were met in the squad room by numerous questions.  Doyle was soon surrounded by a group of ex-coppers who listened silently and offered condolences. There was no disguising the shock in their eyes and Bodie suspected that few of them had ever fired a gun in self defence. The ex-soldiers on the other hand stood off to one side, quietly retelling their own tales of first blood and how it felt to kill.  Several of them had seen combat, but many had not. Bodie had probably been responsible for more deaths than all of them put together. He was certain he was the only one who had killed with something other than a firearm or grenade.

 

The men of CI5 were still very much a divided unit; those like Doyle who came from the Police force on one side and those who came from a military background on the other. Bodie, with his shady past and only a few years spent in the Paras and the SAS didn’t really fit in anywhere.

 

He’d read somewhere that ‘the clothes maketh the man’ so he tried to obtain a sense of respectability by dressing smartly. He’d also attempted to disguise his working class background by adopting a more cultured way of speaking. It was a deception he had tried before in some of his previous occupations, an attempt to blend in by aping those around him.  This time it wasn’t working.

 

“I’ll make you a cup of tea, Doyle,” Bodie called before turning away from the others.

 

“I suppose this was just another day for you, Bodie.” A clipped upper crust voice asked. Bodie didn’t have to look to know it was Watkins, an ex-inspector from the Yard. He’d taken an instant dislike to Bodie when they had been teamed for a training exercise and it had simmered unspoken between them ever since. 

 

“Not really. It’s not every day we save London from two terrorist bombers,” Bodie replied not bothering to look up from his tea making.

 

“You seem very relaxed about it all,  but I guess they were not the first teenagers you’ve shot, were they?” Watkins leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Shoot woman and children in Ireland too did you? I’ve heard about those ‘peace keeping’ operations.”

 

Bodie turned sharply causing Watkins to take a step backwards. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Watkins,” he replied unwilling to rise to the bait. He stirred sugar into the tea, putting in an extra spoonful for Doyle. Good for shock, someone had once told him.

 

“Do you get a kick out of killing, Bodie? A thrill? We all know what you were. It’s just a wonder that Cowley was prepared to take the chance.” 

 

Bodie stood up straight, a cup in either hand. “Out of my way, Watkins. Doyle could do with a cuppa.”

 

But Watkins hadn’t finished. “There was a psychologist at the Yard who once told me that all mercenaries were nothing more than serial killers who had found an acceptable outlet for their perversions...”

 

The tea cups clattered to the floor as Bodie punched Watkins in the jaw. All hell broke lose.

 

 

Part 3

 

Half an hour later Bodie was standing to attention in George Cowley’s office. His face was a mass of bruises, his lip was cut and his shirt stained with blood where his nose had bled. At least it wasn’t broken.  Despite taking the first swing, Bodie had come out on the losing side. Watkins’ mates had been quick to come to his aid and Bodie was soon outnumbered. As he’d gone down in a hail of fists and punches he’d heard one voice, Ray Doyle, shouting for them to leave Bodie alone.  Eventually reason had prevailed and his antagonists had been pulled off leaving Bodie battered and bleeding. When he sat up and looked around, Doyle was no where in sight.

 

“Well Bodie?” George Cowley began, finally looking up from whatever he had been studying on his desk for the last few minutes while Bodie stood stewing. “What do you have to say for yourself man? You’re not in the jungle now.”

 

Bodie winced at the reference. “No sir. There’s no excuse. I lost control. It won’t happen again.” It was a tried and true formula that Bodie used with his superiors. They were always right and you were always wrong. Let them know that _you_ knew that and it usually worked out all right.

 

“It shouldn’t have happened this time, Bodie.” Cowley thumped his fist on the desk. “You’re the last man I would have suspected of this sort of behaviour. I thought you were the level headed one, the only man in this lot who truly knows what it means to keep his head when under fire.”  Cowley sat back in his chair, anger dissipating. “What did Watkins say to you, lad?”

 

Bodie bit his lip and winced as the tender flesh reopened. “What did he tell you, sir?” he asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

 

“I haven’t spoken to Watkins, Bodie. I want to hear your side first.”

 

Bodie felt a slow flush of shame and embarrassment colour his face. In the short time he had served under George Cowley he had come to respect the man.  His single minded objectives in setting up CI5, his willingness to do the unacceptable if it meant the right outcome, these were things that Bodie understood.  He was a man that Bodie could identify with and respect.  He craved George Cowley’s approval more than anything.

 

“He goaded me, sir. He said that one of the Yard’s psychologists had told him that…mercs were nothing more than serial killers.”  Bodie stared at the wall just above Cowley’s head, not willing to meet his superior’s eyes and hear Cowley’s response to the accusation.

 

“He said that, did he? I see.” Cowley leaned forward, fingers steepled as if he were about to pray. “And you believe him do you Bodie? Is that what you think you are? A serial killer?”

 

“No, sir, of course not. But…”

 

“But you are worried that’s how the others see you? Is that it?”

 

Bodie didn’t answer.

 

“Listen to me lad, I chose you for CI5 because you had all the qualities I was looking for and yes, that includes being able to kill when necessary. There’s no way to dress up what we have to do from time to time. It’s ugly and it’s dirty and I need men who are willing to follow orders and not hesitate when it comes to killing.  But that’s the difference Bodie…you follow orders. Serial killers don’t.  Oh you may think your past is all smoke and mirrors but I know enough about you to know you have only killed when you were following orders.”

 

Cowley paused and Bodie couldn’t help but look down into the pale blue eyes that stared up at him.

 

“Am I right lad?”

 

Bodie’s stomach twisted. Cowley didn’t know about the bar owner in Dakar and it was unlikely he ever would.  But he’d thrown a challenge, a chance to confess his sins and possibly receive absolution. Did he trust Cowley enough to admit what he had done? It was within Cowley’s power to have him shipped back to Dakar to face whatever passed for justice there.  That wasn’t something that Bodie was keen to experience.   But this was also a chance for him to be honest for the first time in his life. To stop running, stop hiding, and to finally commit to something.

 

“Sir, there’s something I should tell you. It happened in Dakar when I was seventeen.”

 

 

Part 4

 

Ray Doley was the last person Bodie expected to find slouched against the wall outside Cowley’s office when he finally exited two hours later.

 

He’d told his story to the old man and Cowley had listened patiently. He’d said he would make some discreet inquiries just to make sure an innocent man had not been charged with the crime but felt Bodie had been justified in his killing. “Self defence Bodie, that’s what it is in my eyes. But why not think of your service in CI5 as a way to atone for any guilt you may feel. Help me put this country to rights so that men such as that don’t think they can get away with exploiting youngsters through drugs and prostitution.

 

Bodie left the room with a measure of hope but now, looking into Doyle’s troubled green eyes, Bodie felt his elation slide.

 

“What did the Cow say? Are you out?” Doyle asked.

 

“Would you care?” Bodie threw back.

 

“Course I would you dumb git,” Doyle responded angrily. “I’ll go in there and tell him what really happened. Watkins’ has been riding you for weeks. It’s a wonder this hasn’t happened before now.”

 

Well that was something.  Bodie hadn’t realised that Doyle was paying such close attention to the subtle campaign of taunts Watkins’ had been carrying out.  He wondered what else he had missed about his partner.

 

“It’s all right. Cowley said it’s Watkins who will be leaving. He said there was no place in the squad for a man like that. One who thought he was better than everyone else.”

 

“Hmmmph, good. Didn’t like the bastard one bit.” Doyle looked Bodie over, top to bottom. “So, you all right? You’re going to have a nice shiner there,” he indicated Bodie’s eye

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. It was my pride that was wounded more than anything else.” Bodie said trying hard to shrug the incident off. “It was just a friendly fight.”

 

“Some of those bastards were really trying to hurt, Bodie. There was nothing friendly about it.” Doyle rubbed his own ribs, alerting Bodie to the fact that his partner had done more than just lend his voice to the affray. Maybe he had Doyle wrong all along.  But there was one thing that was still troubling him and Bodie knew he would have to ask Doyle straight out if they were to have any chance of ever really becoming partners. 

 

“Doyle, Watkins said he’d been told by a Psychologist that mercenaries are nothing better than serial killers.  Is that an opinion you share too? Because if it is then we should go back in and ask Cowley for new partners, right now.”

 

“Serial killer? You?” Doyle burst out laughing. “Is that what the fight was over?” Doyle shook his head. 

 

“Listen mate, I don’t know of any serial killer who would bother to take the time to try talk some sense into his partner who is upset and throwing his guts up after shooting someone.  They certainly don’t go around making cups of tea and trying to make them feel better.  You’re no serial killer Bodie.” Doyle beamed a smile. “You’re just a big softy underneath all that posturing.”

 

“I’ll have you know there’s nothing soft about this,” Bodie responded, hitting his stomach. “It’s all muscle, mate.”

 

“Oh yeah, I can see that.”  Doyle threw a playful punch towards Bodie’s abdomen pulling it at the last moment. Bodie responded by grabbing Doyle around the shoulders and messing up his hair. He’d wanted to run his fingers through those curls since the first moment he laid eyes on Ray Doyle and their play fight provided the perfect opportunity.

 

Doyle squirmed away, hands held up in front of him.  “Hey, wouldn’t want Cowley to think you were getting into fisticuffs again would you?”

 

Bodie laughed, the last remaining tensions of the day melting away. “Come on Doyle. I’ll buy you a drink. Let’s make a night of it. Who knows, we may get lucky and pick up a couple of birds?”

 

“Is that one of your remedies for putting it all behind you and forgetting, Bodie?” Doyle asked, suddenly serious again. “Sex?”

 

“Yeah, one of them. And a good one. You’ll see.”

 

“Yeah,” Doyle smiled. “Thanks partner. Come on, I’ll drive.” They walked down the corridor, side by side, finally at ease in one another’s company. “So what are the other ways to make you feel better after shooting someone Bodie?” Doyle asked as they walked out into the late afternoon sunshine.

 

“Oh, you know, anything physical really, running, swimming,” Bodie climbed into the passengers seat of Doyle’s car

 

“And of course sex,” Doyle added with a grin and a leer. He revved the engine hard and took off in a squeal of tyres.

 

“Yeah, especially that.” Bodie replied.  He glanced sideways at his partner, noting the easy way his hands rested on the wheel. They were shapely hands, almost delicate to look at, but Bodie knew they were as strong as a vice once they had you in their grip. He’d enjoyed wresting with Doyle on more than one occasion whilst they were in training. 

 

“So is that what you did out in the jungle then, when there were no birds around?”

 

Bodie stopped his examination of Doyle’s hands and looked up to find himself caught by those impenetrable green eyes. “What?” he stuttered.

 

“Running and swimming? In the jungle when there were no birds about.” Doyle’s full lips curled into a smile. “Just wondered because I heard there are nasty things in the rivers, crocs and hippos, swimming might be a bit dangerous. And as for running through the bush….well that doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, especially if you’re in a war zone.”

 

Bodie took a deep breath refusing to believe that Ray Doyle was making a pass at him.  “Listen Doyle, there were always birds around. They follow the mercs, like… camp followers, you know.”

 

“Yeah, but there wouldn’t be enough to go around would there….I mean how could you have all those women, traipsing through the bush….”

 

“All right, all right. Just what are you getting at Doyle?” He tried to sound serious but Bodie couldn’t keep his amusement from his voice

 

“Nothing mate,” Doyle replied, all innocence and fluttering lashes. “Just wondered, that’s all.”

 

Bodie relaxed back in his seat and smiled – he’s flirting with me, Ray Doyle is actually flirting with me. Well two could play at that game.  “Yeah well, perhaps one day, when I get to know you better, I might let you in on some of the secrets.”

 

Doyle glanced across with a smug smile. “I hope so Bodie.”

 

The End

 

5th Feb 2009


End file.
